The Tale of Timber Town

“An’ just as I was accumulating the one little pile of my life,” murmured Benjamin. “Sometimes I think the gods show incompetence in the execution of their duty; sometimes I think there ain’t no gods at all, but only a big, blind Influence that blunders on through Creation, trampling promiscuous on small fry like me.” He pulled at his pipe contemplatively. “Decamp, is it? Obscure my fairy-like proportions from the common gaze? But who’s to look after my interests here? What’s to become of my half of the gold yet ungot?”

“Can’t you trust a mate?” said Bill. “Ain’t I acted square so far? What are you gettin’ at? I’ll work the claim to its last ounce, and then I’ll go whacks, same as if you’d bin here all the time. Then you can leave the country. Till then I’ll put you away in a hiding-place where all the traps in the blanky country” – Bill had worked on Australian fields, and showed it in his speech – “won’t find you, not if they search for years.”

Scarlett rose. He had put on his garments, now dry and warm. “So-long, Benjamin,” he said. “You may be the biggest criminal unhung, for all I know, but you have one thing in your favour: if you robbed those mails it must have been for the benefit of another man.”

Moonlight bade good-bye, but as though to make up for his mate’s aspersion, said, “I know nothing of this business, but I know the police. If they’re not turned into a holy show when they set foot in this camp to look for you, may I never find another ounce of gold. Keep your end up, Benjamin. So-long.” And he followed his mate into the darkness.

The Prospector was wrapped in thought. He sat, gazing into the fire, for fully ten minutes. Then he said, “There’s three ways – the Forks, the Saddle, and the Long Valley. I give ’em my own names. The Saddle’s the safest. It’s a bit of a tough climb, but it’s sure. There’s no hurry, but we must leave here at dawn, before these newsters reach the claim, which Moonlight’ll see isn’t jumped. So we’ll sleep happy and comfortable, pack our swags just before daylight, take all our gold along with us, and cook our tucker when we make our first halt. All serene, my lovely Bishop; all thought out and planned, just like in a book. Never hurry in the bush, my beautiful ecclesiastic, as nothing’s ever gained by that. More haste, less speed – in the bush, my learned preacher. What a pity they didn’t catch you young and turn you into a sky-pilot, Ben. The way you jawed them two was fit for the pulpit. But now I know where you got the money to repay me that £117. I don’t want any explanation. I know where you got it.”

CHAPTER XXIV

The Goldsmith Comes to Town

Timber Town was in a state of commotion. The news of the discovery of the new gold-field had spread far and wide, and every steamer which came into the port was crowded with clammering diggers. Every boarding-house was full to overflowing, every inn was choked with men in heavy boots and corduroy trousers; the roads on the outskirts of the town were lined with rows of tents; everybody talked of the El Dorado in the mountains; there was no thought but of gold; men were buying stores in every shop; pack-horses stood with their heavy loads, in every inn-yard; and towards the bush, threading their way through the tortuous gorge that led into the heart of the mountains, a continual string of diggers, laden with heavy “swags” or leading patient over-laden horses, filed into the depths of the forest.

Jake Ruggles had lived a troubled life since his legal head and overlord, the official sponsor of his promising young life, had dropped out of his existence, as a stone drops to the bottom of a well and is no more seen. Upon his immature shoulders rested all the worry of the goldsmith’s business. He was master of Tresco’s bench; the gravers and the rat-tail files, the stock-drills and the corn-tongs were under his hand for good or for evil. With blow-pipe and burnisher, with plush-wheel and stake-anvil he wrought patiently; almost bursting with responsibility, yet with anxiety gnawing at his heart. And the lies he told on behalf of his “boss”! – lies to men with unpaid accounts in their hands, lies to constables with bits of blue paper from the Clerk of the Court, lies to customers whose orders could not be executed except by the master-goldsmith. On all sides the world pressed heavily on Jake. His wizened face was quickly assuming the aspect of a little old man’s; his furtive eyes began to wear a scared look; sleep had ceased to visit his innocent couch with regularity; his appetite, which formerly had earned him a reputation with his peers, was now easily appeased with a piece of buttered bread and a cup of milkless tea; the “duff” and rice puddings, of the goldsmith’s making, had passed out of his life even as had the “boss” himself. Never was there a more badgered, woe-begone youth than Jake.

It was night time. The shutters of the shop were up, the door was bolted, the safe, with its store of gold-set gewgaws, was locked, and the key rested securely in the apprentice’s pocket, but by the light of a gas-jet, his head bent over the bench, Jake was hard at work on a half-finished ring. In one hand he held a tapering steel rod, on which was threaded a circle of metal which might have been mistaken for brass; in the other he held a light hammer with which he beat the yellow zone. Tap-tap. “Jerusalem, my ’appy ’ome, oh! how I long for thee!” Tap-tap-tap went the hammer. “If the ‘old man’ was on’y here to lend a hand, I’d give a week’s pay. The gold’s full o’ flaws – all along of the wrong alloy, in smeltin’ – full o’ cracks and crevices.” He took the gold hoop off the steel rod, placed it on a piece of charred wood, pulled the gas-jet towards him, and with the blow-pipe impinged little jets of flame upon the yellow ring. “An’ the galloot that come in this afternoon said, ‘I always find the work turned out of this shop ah – excellent, ah – tip-top, as good as anything I ever bought in the Old Country, don’tcherknow.’ Yah! Gimme silver, that’s all. Gimme a butterfly buckle to make, or a monogram to saw out, an’ I wouldn’t call the Pope my uncle.” His eye lifted from his work and rested on a broken gold brooch, beautiful with plaited hair under a glass centre. “An’ that fussy old wood-hen’ll be in, first thing to-morrow, askin’ for ‘the memento of my poor dear ’usband, my child, the one with the ’air in it’ – carrotty ’air. An’ those two bits of ’air-pins that want them silver bangles by ten o’clock, they’ll be here punctual. I’m just fair drove silly with badgerin’ wimmen. I’m goin’ ratty with worry. When the boss comes back from his spree, I’ll give ’im a bit o’ my mind. I’ll tell ’im, if he must go on a bend he should wait till the proper time – Christmas, Anniversary of the Settlement, Easter, or even a Gov’ment Holiday. But at a time like this, when the town’s fair drippin’ with dollars … stupid ole buck-rabbit! An’ when he can’t be found, the mutton-headed bobbies suddenly become suspicious. It’s no good for me to tell ’em it’s his periodical spree —they say it’s robbery. Oh, well, I back my opinion, that’s all. But whether it’s the one, or the other, of all the chuckle-headed old idiots that ever was born” – Tap-tap. It was not the noise of Jake’s hammer, but a gentle knocking at the side-door of the workshop.

The apprentice rose quietly, and put his ear to the key-hole. Tap-tap-tap.

“Who’s there?”

“Open the door,” said a soft voice. “It’s me. I want to come in.”

“Very likely you do. There’s many more’d like to come in here.”

“Is that you, Jake?”

“Never you mind. Who’re you?”

“You weasel-faced young imp, am I to burst open my own door?”

The mystery was at an end. In a moment, the bolt was withdrawn and Benjamin Tresco stood in his workshop.

But before he spoke, he bolted the door behind him. Then he said, “Well?”

“So you’ve come back?” said Jake, fiercely.

“Looks like it,” said the goldsmith. “How’s things?”

“Gone to the devil. How d’you expect me to keep business goin’ when you go on a howling spree, for weeks?”

“Spree? Me? My dear innocent youth, I have clean forgotten the very taste of beer. At this present moment, I stand before you a total abstainer of six weeks’ duration. And yet what I ask for is not beer, but bread – I’m as hungry as a wolf; I’ve hardly eaten anything for two days. What have you got in the house?”

“Nothin’.”

“What!”

“I don’t ’ave no time to cook. When I can find time, I go up to The Lucky Digger and get a good square feed. D’you expect me to do two men’s work and cook as well?”

Tresco undid the small “swag” which he carried, and before the astonished eyes of his apprentice he disclosed fully a hundred ounces of gold.

“Jee-rusalem! Blame me if you ain’t been diggin’!”

“That’s so, my son.”

“And the police are fair ratty because they thought you were hiding from the Law.”

“So I am, my son.”

“Garn!”

“Solemn fact – there’s a writ out against me.”

“Well?”

“I ain’t got a mind to be gaoled at such a glorious time in the history of Timber Town. I want to get more gold, stacks of it.”

“An’ where do I come in?”

“You come in as owner of this business by and by – if you’re a good boy.”

“Huh! I want to go diggin’ too.”

“All in good time, my energetic youth, all in good time. But for the present, give me some food.”

“Didn’t I tell you there isn’t any?” yelled Jake.

“Very good, very good, but don’t talk so loud. Take this half-crown, and go to The Lucky Digger. Tell the young lady in the bar that you have a friend who’s dying of hunger. Tell her to fill a jug with a quart of beer, and a basket with tucker of sorts. And hurry back; for, by my sacred aunt, if I don’t get something better presently, I shall turn cannibal and eat you!”

While the boy was gone, Tresco weighed the gold that lay on the bench. It came to 111 ounces, and this, valued at the current price of gold from Bush Robin Creek – the uninitiated are possibly unaware that as one star differeth from another star in glory, so the gold from one locality differs in price from that found in another – came to £430 2s. 6d.

Finding the safe locked, Tresco, whistling softly, turned down the gas, and sat at his bench in the gloom.

When Jake returned he was cautiously admitted, the door was re-bolted, and the gas was turned up sufficiently to show the goldsmith the way to his mouth.

“Where’s the key of the safe, Jake?”

“Where it ought to be.”

“You young imp, anty up.”

Jake produced the key from his pocket. “D’you suppose I label it and put it in the winder?”

“Put this gold away – there’s 111 ounces. I’ll bring some more next time I come. Now.” He lifted the jug, and drank. When he set it down again, it was half empty. “That’s what I call a moment of bliss. No one who hasn’t spent a month in the bush knows what a thirst really is; he ain’t got no conception what beer means. Now, what’s in the basket?” He lifted the white napkin that covered his supper. “Ham!” A beautific smile illumined his face. “Ham, pink and white and succulent, cut in thin slices by fair hands. Delicious! And what’s this? Oyster patties, cold certainly, but altogether lovely. New bread, cheese, apple turn-over! Couldn’t be better. The order of the menu is; first, entrees – that means oysters – next, ham, followed by sweets, and topped off with a morsel of cheese. Stand by and watch me eat – a man that has suffered semi-starvation for nearly a month.”

Jake lit a cigarette, an indulgence with which in these days of worry and stress he propitiated his overwrought nerves. He drew in the smoke with all the relish of a connoisseur, and expelled it through his nostrils.